Her eyes flashed, and she put her brown fist on her waist and began to rock from side to side.
"But I'll not go," she said, viciously.
"Go where ?" asked the boy.
"Oh, where ?" she echoed, impatiently.

"Hear me, Francisco.

Thou knowest I am, like thee, an orphan; but I have not, like thee, a parent in the Holy Church.

For, alas," she added, bitterly, "I am not a boy, and have not a lovely voice borrowed from the angels.

I was, like thee, a foundling, kept, by the charity of the reverend fathers, until Don Juan, a childless widower, adopted me.